Sing the Sorrow
by Deianeira2732
Summary: I felt alive, like I’d awakened from a long slumber and opened my eyes to a new and beautiful world. It was a beauty that was exclusively focussed and perfected in the form of Oliver Wood. OW/OC
1. Chapter 1 How Did I Get Here?

Sing the SorrowFull Summary

_I felt alive, like I'd awakened from a long slumber and opened my eyes to a new and beautiful world. It was a beauty that was exclusively focussed and perfected in the form of Oliver Wood._

As a new student to Hogwarts there's a lot that Isobel Reed has to learn. Virtually a stranger to the world of magic she suddenly finds herself embroiled in a world of wonder and awe, treachery and pain, and against all things, love.

**A/N Hello all! This is my first fan fiction and I'd really appreciate any comments people have to make. I should also specify that it's set during Harry's second year at Hogwarts / Chamber of Secrets. **

**And finally that I don't own anything of HP, but the OC is mine.**

Chapter 1 – How Did I Get Here?And all the roads we have to walk are winding

_And all the lights that lead us there are blinding_

- Oasis

I knew what I had to do. It was simple. Plenty of witches and wizards before me had done just that very thing. So why couldn't I make my feet move?

I stared at the barrier before me, running my gaze up and down the subtle curve that formed the archway. The bricks were old, cracked and faded. I sighed. This, unsurprisingly, was just how I felt at this moment, down-beaten and weatherworn.

I was a little shocked to realise just where I stood frozen, here and now. It was amazing just how sharply my reality had altered in such a short period of time.

Two weeks ago I had been in Sydney, Australia. I had friends there, a home, a _life_. And I was happy in that life. But like the crashing of the tide the real world had caught up with me and I found myself now proverbially backed into a corner. It was not a position I relished. I had never liked having my hand forced but they had given me no real alternative.

The Daily Prophet, my only real connection to the world of magic, had announced recently that the Ministry for Magic would be cracking down on the number of so called 'untrained' witches and wizards, meaning those who'd never had any formal magical training. I'd scoffed when I'd read this, believing after all, that this was just another empty threat, an illusion of the power the Ministry thought they had.

I had been wrong.

A few days later I'd received an unpleasant letter from none other than the Ministry itself. Though it had been very diplomatically written, the underlying message had been unpleasantly clear. I was being ordered to attend a wizarding school and gain my OWLs at the very least. Should I fail to do so I would be court marshalled and face the possibility of spending the rest of my life in Azkaban. Not much of an alternative when you think about it.

Upon receiving the directive I'd contacted an old family connection for advice on the matter. Rumour had it he was quite influential within the Ministry and so I'd foolishly hoped for a pardon from the unjust ultimatum. But Professor Dumbledore had refused, telling me instead that should I wish there was a place available for me at his school.

Denied and defeated I'd finally acquiesced.

And so now I stood, just a couple of weeks later but in a world drastically different from the one I'd come from, in front of an archway in between Platforms Nine and Ten at Kings Cross Station. All that separated me now from the life I'd had and the one I was being forced into was a magical barrier in the form of an archaic brick wall.

It wasn't so much the fear of attending a new school that kept me frozen where I stood, but more how others of my kind would receive someone like _me_. From an early age it had become apparent that I was a very talented witch. By the age of nine I had mastered spells that most adults couldn't perform in their dizziest daydreams. Part of the reason why I'd never attended a wizarding school before was _because_ I had so much potential. I was bright, skilled, astute . . . dangerous, perhaps? No one, not even I, knew what I was truly capable of. And it's quite frightening to admit that.

But there was nothing for it now. I had to make a move. Several muggles had already given me suspicious stares and I'm sure I heard one of them say she was going off to get an inspector. Who could blame them though? I'd stood stationary staring at a wall for more than ten minutes. Now was not the time for fear, I simply had no other alternative.

Unsteadily I took a step forward and reached out with one hand, placing it on the rough, cold brickwork in front of me. My touch met no resistance, sinking easily through the barrier in to the hidden world on the other side.

Swallowing heavily and closing my eyes I slowly stepped forward, allowing the rest of my body to pass through.

Though I didn't see it through my clenched eyelids I knew the moment I was on the other side. A feeling had passed over me as I'd stepped through, a gentle caress of sorts. It felt like a piece of satin running over my body for just a second.

My eyes snapped open the instant I was on the other side, widening at the foreign sights that assaulted me. I was standing on a train platform, not unlike the one I'd just left, only the engine before me was nothing like the static, modern forms of transportation the muggles used these days. Instead there stood the strong, proud form of a steam train.

Smoke rose thickly from the head of the scarlet engine. I stared in awe at the side of the first carriage, which was adorned with sharp lettering bearing the name 'The Hogwarts Express'.

At least I now knew with all certainty that I was in the right place. I still did not see why Dumbledore just wouldn't let me apparate to the school grounds. It wasn't like I hadn't done it before. But he'd insisted saying that the taking the train would be a good opportunity for me to meet my new classmates outside of the school environment. And he'd not so gently reminded me that, despite the fact that I _could_ apparate, at fifteen I was underage and shouldn't doing so at all.

I shook my head, dispelling the memory, and turning my gaze to the other sights. Around me a plethora of people moved about - parents saying 'goodbye' to their children, friends greeting each other after the summer vacation. The sounds of their joy assaulted my ears; screams, cries and yells of elation. It appeared everybody knew somebody and this was cause for revelry.

I shivered, but it was not from the cold.

As I watched a particularly overzealous reunion between a group of boys younger than me, I became acutely aware of just how alone I really was. I didn't know a single soul here, let alone anyone on this continent. Swallowing hard I realised that it never ceased to amaze me just how sharply that feeling of isolation can hit, particularly when you're surrounded by people. Like a cold wind on a frosty winter morning, the bitter sting that loneliness strikes through your heart is difficult to shake, even long after you've escaped from it.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all_, I thought.

I was entering in to the fifth year, OWL year, with a bunch of people who already knew each other very well. I was the outsider in their little group of confidants. How would I be received? Would they even want another addition to their class?

The sound of engine carriage 'tooting' noisily from my left broke my reverie and I realised with a small amount of disgust that I was biting my lip. I should be more composed than this.

"Hi," a soft voice sounded on my right.

Surprised, I whipped my head around to face its source. Before me stood a pretty Caucasian girl, the slight breeze sweeping her long black hair in to her face. She had the darkest eyes I'd ever seen and was smiling at me with a tentative expression.

"I'm Katie," she said, holding out her hand.

I was a little taken aback by her forwardness. But it was clear that her motivations were pure. She'd simply seen a new girl looking lost and alone and had wanted to make her feel more at ease.

Without another hesitation I reached out and shook her proffered hand.

"Isobel," I replied returning her smile gratefully. The dark eyes that watched me, waiting for my reaction, lightened at my friendly return.

"Have you just transferred here Isobel?" Katie asked, encouraged now, as she led me towards the train.

Evidently they didn't get too many new students at Hogwarts, excluding the first years, of course. I hesitated for just a second in my response as I followed her down the train to one of the rear carriages. Katie clearly thought I'd attended another wizardry school before this.

"Erm, no. I was home-schooled," I answered uneasily.

_Excellent_, I thought, _lying to her already._ Though, it really wasn't _that_ far from the truth. My parents, now deceased, had never taught me anything about magic. It had been an unspoken blasphemy in my household and they had all but banned it. All of my knowledge of the world of magic had come from sneaking peaks at my mother's old school books from when she attended Beaubaxtons. I suppose in some twisted way you could call this home-schooled.

"Oh," came Katie's reply, her smile faltering slightly. "What year level are you entering in to then?"

"Fifth."

This seemed to brighten her and her face stretched, if possible, in to an even wider grin than before. I found her enthusiasm hard to resist and I smiled back just as widely.

Around us the sounds of curious whispers breathed through the air. I could feel the eyes of a hundred different pupils on the back of my head, could hear the silent questions in their gazes. I found it increasingly difficult to ignore these as I followed Katie's retreating form down the narrow train carriage.

"Brilliant! I'm in fifth also." She opened the door to one of the compartments and stepped easily in. I followed, though with a small amount of reservation. Inside a group of students already sat, facing each other on the long tartan couches that mirrored the front and rear walls of the compartment.

On my left hand side three younger students sat huddled over a schoolbook, bickering lightly amongst themselves. Next to them two older, redhead boys were quietly plotting, head bent over an old piece of parchment. Opposite them, evidently ignoring the twins' gall, sat another dark-haired boy, who was chatting animatedly about something with the girl next to him.

"Hi everyone!" Katie greeted them with just as much enthusiasm as she had addressed me with. The conversation ceased and they all turned to face her, greeting her with a smile before their gazes flicked questioningly to me.

"This is Isobel," she said, pointing behind her. "She's joining us in fifth year."

I watched carefully as the seven faces in the carriage slowly stretched in to tentative smiles.

"This is Angelina," Katie continued, pointing to the dark girl on the right hand side of the compartment. "She's also in fifth year. And Oliver – " indicating the boy on Angelina's far side. "Then there's Fred and George – " pointing to the two identical faces my left hand side. "And Harry, Ron and Hermione."

Having finished her introductions Katie proceeded to sit down next to Angelina. Carefully I lowered myself to sit on her other side. Unsurprisingly the couches were as hard as a park bench.

"So, Isobel," one of the twins called to me, "Know which house you're in yet?"

I nodded. "Gryffindor." This seemed to please them and I watched, perplexed, as the twins turned wicked glances on each other.

"Excellent," the same twin replied, turning back to Katie. "I like this girl already."

In my peripheral vision I saw Katie roll her eyes. "We're all in Gryffindor," she explained. "If you'd been in a different house we might have had to kick you out of the carriage." She said this last part with a wry smile, indicating that it was a joke.

I smiled in return, but failed to miss the undercurrent of the conversation topic. Evidently there was a huge rivalry between the different houses. That wasn't entirely unexpected though, given it was a boarding school. I'd already heard that at Hogwarts your house was like your home, and ultimately where your loyalties lay.

"Wait a minute," the girl who'd been introduced as Hermione said, interrupting my train of thought. She jumped out of her seat, the book that had been in her lap falling to the floor. She had a very excited look on her face.

"What's your surname?" Her dark brown eyes were only a few feet from mine and they were positively burning with anticipation. She looked like a kid in a candy store.

"Erm, Reed," I replied with a frown, not understanding the source of her uncontrolled enthusiasm. To my right I could feel six other sets of eyes on my face. Their unwavering focus made me slightly edgy and I shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. I had never liked being the centre of attention.

"Yah!" Hermione yelped, covering her mouth. "I _knew _it!" she continued, her enthusiasm now visibly bubbling over. Her dark brown eyes flared alight with whatever discovery she thought she'd made. I shifted again, still not understanding what she was getting at, but it was now making me feel really uneasy.

"You're famous," she said matter-of-factly after a moment, having regained some of her composure. "You invented the Charlitan potion."

My eyes widened. The Charlitan potion, used for relieving allergies, was a small discovery I'd made a few years ago. In all honesty it had been an accident. My sister had been suffering particularly badly with hay fever one year. I'd been messing around with different combinations of ingredients to try and help her and pretty much stumbled on a combination that alleviated the symptoms immediately. But never had I imagine that piece of information would be known here.

_Great_. I'd only been here a grand total of half an hour and I'd already been set apart from the rest.

"It really wasn't that much of an achievement," I muttered, looking down at the floor.

Hermione scowled, waving my response off impatiently.

"You _only_ received an Order of the Merlin for it." She continued appreciatively, shaking her bushy hair.

My eyes snapped up to hers and I groaned internally.

"_Second _Class," I emphasised, allowing my irritation to leak through my voice slightly.

_Let it go_, I silently begged her. She seemed to get the message and her smile faded.

Sniffing defensively she sat back down.

"It's just impressive, that's all." Without another word she picked up the book that had fallen to the floor – Standard Book of Spells Grade Two – and continued reading. Every now and then I could feel her gaze flick back to me. I didn't need to see her to know when she did this however, the admiration positively oozed from her corner of the compartment.

Fortunately the others, recognising my discomfort, left it at that.

"You play Quidditch, Isobel?" the dark-haired boy on Angelina's right asked me. His voice was deep with an unmistakable Scottish accent.

a collective groan resounded throughout the compartment when he spoke. Even Hermione pried herself from her book long enough to roll her eyes.

"Give it a rest, Oliver," Angelina moaned, elbowing him in the ribs. "Term hasn't even begun and you're already starting. There's more to life than Quidditch, you know."

"What, it's just a question," he said, his eyebrows arching slightly. Turning back to me he asked, "Isobel?"

"Yes," I answered. "I play on occasion."

He smiled encouragingly at me and I noticed for the first time that he had the most magnificent dark brown eyes. "What position do you play?"

"Chaser usually," I replied unconsciously.

"Oh, well, I'm Gryffindor's Team Captain. You should come to try-outs."

"Gah! Oliver!" One of the twins protested, throwing him a dirty look. "She's only been here half an hour and you're already trying to recruit her. Leave the girl alone."

Oliver just smirked, shaking his head slightly as he turned his gaze away from mine.

"Scouting already, Wood?" A harsh voice barked from the corridor. The door opened admitting a tall, heavy-set boy. His features were unpleasantly severe as was the glare he turned on us.

"Good idea starting now. You're going to need all the help you can get." He laughed roughly – a deep, guttural bark of a laugh - at his joke. No one else in the carriage seemed to find it amusing.

Oliver's mouth narrowed in to a thin line and his eyes hardened.

"Laugh all you want, Flint, but the cup is ours this year," he challenged.

"We'll see about that." Flint barked out another disbelieving laugh and I winced as the severe sound assaulted my ears. As he turned to leave his pitch black eyes lighted on me.

"Well," he began, pausing in his retreat and licking his lips. "What do we have here?"

I didn't like the way he was looking at me. There was something cold and possessive about the glint in his eye.

"I'm Marcus," he said pleasantly after a few seconds, holding out his hand. His voice was lighter than before, friendlier.

I stared back unwaveringly, my eyes narrowing slightly at the change in his demeanour. Keeping my gaze fixed firmly on his I stretched forth with my senses, allowing me to penetrate his mind. Almost immediately his innermost intentions became clear.

Yes, it was as I thought. The vile creature before of me thought only of me as a conquest. Simply put, he liked what he saw and was determined to have it.

"Isobel," I replied coolly, withdrawing from his mind and swallowing the bile that had risen in my throat. Reluctantly I shook the proffered hand feeling the rough calluses scratch harshly against my skin.

Suddenly his eyes flashed and his grip on my hand tightened. I was pulled sharply from my seat and in to his arms. My hands automatically braced themselves on his chest as I tried to push away, but his hands, which had now moved to my hips, held my pelvis firmly in place against his. Repulsed I leaned backwards slightly, away from the malevolent grin that had now plastered itself on his face. His putrid breath washed over me and I fought back the urge to retch yet again.

"Get off her," a cold voice hissed on my right.

I turned my head slightly, away from Flint, to see that everyone else in the carriage had risen from their seats, their wands pointed at my captor. It was Oliver Wood who had spoken. His dark eyes bore heavily into Flint's, almost daring him.

After a seconds hesitation I felt the iron-like grip around my waist loosen. Flint stepped back with a gauffing laugh.

"If you ever want more civilised company . . ." he trailed off, eying me with another hungry stare before turning and leaving the compartment.

"You ok?" Oliver's voice called to me.

I leaned forward slightly out in to the corridor to watch Flint walk away. I swallowed heavily, still slightly unnerved. Judging by the repulsive way Flint looked me up and down I was certain he wasn't just about to let this go.

"Fine," I murmured, tearing my gaze away from the retreating form and back to my companions. "Thanks."

Oliver's mouth turned up in to a slight smile before he resumed his seat.


	2. Chapter 2 Ode to the Fast Reflexes

Chapter 2 – Ode to the Fast Reflexes

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_

_Or the moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies_

_Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_Coz I don't think that they'd understand_

'- Goo Goo Dolls

A few days later I did just as Oliver had suggested, I tried out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

I'd exaggerated just a little bit when I'd told him I played. I had played before and I knew the rules but with one sisters and virtually no link to the world of magic I'd actually only played on a handful of occasions. Though I did have my own broom – a Nimbus 2000, no less - and was quite confident on it.

So I figured, why not? Seeing as I was already here I should at least try to involve myself in extracurricular activities as much as possible. Besides, all of the people I knew from the train apart from two were on the team. It seemed like the next logical step in getting to know them.

It turned out that Katie, Angelina and I, much to my relief, were all dorm mates along with one other girl named Alicia. They, in particular, had graciously welcomed me and I'd been a little surprised to realise that we were fast becoming good friends.

The others I'd met were all in different year levels to us but it didn't seem to make a difference. They were just as friendly towards me and I'd found myself engrossed in a lengthy conversation in the common room each night.

"Isobel!" Wood called to me as I approached the small group of people congregated on the sidelines of the school's Quidditch pitch. He jogged over to greet me, smiling widely as he did. "Glad to see you could make it."

"Hey," I replied, returning his enthusiastic smile. We walked together back to the others.

"Alright everyone," Oliver called. The small amount of chatter that had been going on ceased immediately as everyone turned to face him. "You all know why you're here. Now for those of you who made the cut last year this does not guarantee you a spot on this year's team."

"Yes Sir!" One of the Weasley twins called out from the rear of the pack, saluting the Captain what was meant to be a disparaging manner.

Oliver, unfazed, continued with his announcement. "We'll start with the Chasers. Everyone wanting to try out for this position please step forward."

I walked forward towards Oliver along with Katie, Angelina and a couple of other people. He divided us in to two teams - Katie, a boy named Alvin and myself versus Angelina, Jane and Christopher. Oliver was to play Keeper against my team, which left our side one player down.

"Fred," Oliver called out, his eyes searching through the pack of people. "For your comment earlier you can play Keeper on the other side."

"But Oli -," the aforementioned moaned.

"No arguments!" Wood called back.

Muttering under his breath Fred grabbed his broom roughly and stalked off to the opposite goal, kicking up clods of dirt as he went.

A few moments later the Quaffle was released and the game began. Angelina was quick off the mark, securing the prize first and tucking it firmly under one arm as she dogged my team members before heading towards the opposite goal. I'd stayed further back in a defensive position and was now the only obstacle between her at the goalposts. As I raced to meet her I allowed my eyes to close for just a moment, revelling in the feeling of the air's cool breath washing over my body. It felt good to be flying again, almost freeing.

My eyes snapped open swiftly though as I sensed Angelina's close proximity. She was appraising me with a calculating expression. Jane flew slightly behind her on her left hand side, and it was clear from Angelina's body language she wanted me to think she was going to pass the Quaffle to her. But my senses told me otherwise.

I call myself telepathic but the reality is that it's difficult to characterise my abilities. It's not so much that I can read minds - I can and on occasion I do, but that requires unbroken eye contact and an incredible amount of concentration, so I use this talent very infrequently. It's more that I have enhanced intuition. I just _know_ when someone does or is going to do something. Inexplicably I can feel it deep inside me, even if my other senses can't detect it. And I'm never wrong.

In this moment my senses permitted me to see Angelina's true course of action. Her body language was indicating that she was going to pass the Quaffle to Jane on her left but my mind screamed at me that she was actually going to pass to the unseen player behind me on her right.

We were still approaching each other at breakneck speed, her gaze fixed determinedly on mine. I could see that she was waiting for the last possible moment to pass off, thus preventing me from intercepting the Quaffle. But she wasn't counting on me having advanced warning.

_Now! _I yelled internally as I detected Angelina's mind furiously sending out synapses telling her body to pass the Quaffle off. My reflexes were exceptional and before her muscles had even had a chance to carry out the action I jerked my broom sharply to the left, placing me in the perfect position to intercept the large crimson ball. My hands clamped victoriously around it and with it now firmly in my grasp I sped off unopposed towards our goal, leaving in my wake three very dismayed Chasers.

To my right I saw Katie flying alongside me in my peripheral vision. Up ahead Wood hovered protectively in front of the three identical goal hoops. He too was eyeing me with a calculating expression, trying to determine which hoop I'd go for. I smiled slightly, drawing back my arm and aiming the Quaffle towards the hoop on my left. Wood's dark brown eyes widened as he saw what I was about to do and his grip tightened unconsciously on his broom handle. But instead of throwing the Quaffle I let it go and kicked out with my right foot, striking it hard and in the direction of Katie Bell. To her credit, she reacted swiftly around her surprise, catching the Quaffle and hurling it rapidly through the now unprotected goal hoop on our right hand side.

Katie let out a cheer as it went through and I turned a warm smile on her.

"Impressive," Wood called out from his position. "Let's go again."

The game continued at a lightning fast pace, both teams scoring a handful more goals. In what was announced to be the last play of the match I was in possession of the Quaffle, racing, again unopposed, towards Wood at the far end of the field. My attention on him was broken for a second by a mild whistling sound, and I dropped my gaze slightly to look behind me. In my wake a dense black ball rapidly approached; I was being tailed by a bludger. There was little chance that I could outfly it and given the speed at which it was approaching me, I calculated that it would hit me before I would have a chance to score. Remaining calm, I resolved to do nothing but continue on my current course directly at Wood and the centre goal.

I could both hear and sense the approach of the heavy object, which was now only a few feet behind me. Concentrating hard, not on where I was flying but on the Bludger tailing me, I felt my wiry muscles contract in anticipation. As I felt the Bludger close the final few centimetres between us I rolled swiftly to the side, out of its path.

Shock registered on Wood's face as he saw the Bludger heading directly for him.

Oh no! He hadn't known it was behind me and it was now too late for him to react.

With a sickening 'crunch' it hit him square in the chest, propelling his body like a rag-doll through the centre goal post.

My jaw dropped, horror-struck, as I watched his helpless form fall heavily towards the ground far below. Without even thinking I hurled the Quaffle in my hands, unconsciously sending it through one of the goal hoops, and pressed down hard on my broom handle, entering into a very steep dive. I flew at lightning speed towards the ground, halting only for a split-second underneath the falling form of the Qudditch Captain. He landed heavily on top of my lap, causing my broom to jolt roughly. I wrapped my arms protectively around his waist, feeling his firm abdominal muscles beneath my hands, as I carefully lowered us to the ground, balancing on my broom with only my knees.

As soon as I felt our feet touch the sand below I released him and he took a couple of unsteady steps away from me, panting hard. My breathing just as laboured I swung my legs over the handle.

"I'm _so_ sorry," I apologised, leaning heavily on the broom for support. "Are you alright?"

When he turned back to face me it was with an expression of unbridled excitement.

"That was _incredible_! Where did you learn to fly like _that_?" Oliver's dark brown eyes were alight as he said this; there was no trace of annoyance, despite the fact that he'd almost been seriously injured thanks to me.

"I – " I stumbled, confused by the absence of his wrath.

By now the others had landed around us, all professing various sentiments of praise for my actions. Katie and Angelina enveloped me in a tight hug, which I tentatively returned. Wood grinned widely at the three of us, looking like Christmas had come early.

"Congratulations, Reed, you're on the team."

The small amount of elation I felt as the girls hugged me tightly again was swiftly replaced by uncertainty. How long could I continue this charade? It was only a matter of time before the extent of my abilities caused serious trouble. Today's near miss only proved that. If I wanted to fit in here I would have to start controlling myself better.


	3. Chapter 3 – Trouble Stalks Even the Ligh

Chapter 3 – Trouble Stalks Even the Lightest of Footsteps

_There's another world inside of me_

_That you may never see_

_There are secrets in this life that I can't hide_

_Somewhere in this darkness there's a light that I can't find_

_Maybe it's too far away_

_Or maybe I'm just blind_

– 3 Doors Down

I rose early the following day – Monday – eagerly anticipating the official start of term. Today I would finally be attending wizarding classes. My first class for the semester, well, _ever _really, was a double lesson of Potions to be held in the Dungeons. While the other girls in my dorm seemingly dreaded this I could not be more euphoric. As Hermione had unfortunately pointed out on the train I had a certain aptitude for potions and I was positively itching to prove my worth.

Though I should be tired right now, I was not. I'd spent most of the night awake, slightly bidding time to speed up. Of course, as the saying goes, 'A watched pot never boils', and so much to my chagrin time had crept along as slowly as always.

I'd risen as soon as the sun's rays had begun casting long orange streams through the dusty window of our dormitory. Quick as a flash, and as quietly as I could muster I'd had a shower, hoping the warmth of the water would calm my nerves and curb my enthusiasm slightly. By the time I'd emerged clean, fresh and dressed in my uniform, the other girls were only beginning to stir.

"Merlin, what is wrong with you?" Angelina had asked, attempting to rub some of the remaining sleep out of her eyes.

"Yeah," Alicia agreed, trying to suppress a yawn. "You do know normal people actually _dread _going to Potions."

I ignored their comments, rolling my eyes and settling myself back on my bed as I waited for them to dress. Though I couldn't deny that Alicia's comment about _normal people _had hit home. There was no refuting the fact that I was not a normal witch by any stretch of the imagination. But that was privileged knowledge.

Eventually, after much coaxing from myself, the three of them had readied and we were heading down to the great hall for breakfast.

It never ceased to amaze me just how magnificent this school was, the great hall being no exception. Four long tables stretched from one end of the expansive room to the other, each one designated to a different house. Floating in mid-air along the length of each of the tables hundreds of ever-lasting candles flickered invitingly. At the far end of the hall stood a tall, proud podium in the shape of a phoenix, behind which the teachers' table sat. But most surprisingly the ceiling of the impressive hall had been bewitched to reflect the outside sky. This morning it was a deep blue and littered with a plethora of fluffy white clouds. A happy start to the term of sorts, and I thought how aptly this reflected my current mood.

Breakfast had been a noisy affair, more so than usual. Apparently I wasn't the only one heavily anticipating this morning's classes. Opposite me Hermione was practically bouncing in her seat.

"What's got you so wound up?" A slightly disgruntled Ron asked her, taking a piece of toast from the platter in front of him.

Hermione made an impatient 'tut' sound, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. "We've got Defence Against the Dark Arts first thing this morning."

"So?" Ron questioned, ignoring her authoritive tone.

"So? With _Gilderoy Lockheart?_"

I frowned at her reply. "Who's that?" I asked.

Hermione just about fell out of her seat with shock. "Him," she said, pointing to a blond wizard, dressed in lavish purple robes up at the teachers table. "His deeds are positively commendable – I can't wait to hear what he's got to say."

Ron just snorted and continued crunching noisily on his toast. For my part I continued to stare silently at the wizard she'd pointed out. Personally I didn't see what she was getting so worked-up about. Though I couldn't hear what he was saying it was clear to me that Professor Lockheart was a fickle sort of person, to say the least.

"Ready to go, Is?" Angelina asked from my right hand side, touching me on the shoulder to gain my attention.

I nodded. Of the four of us sharing a dorm room, she was the only other one undertaking potions with me. The other two had admitted to unhesitatingly dropping the subject as soon as allowable.

I followed her lead out of the Great hall and across to the Viaduct. Here she led me down a dark, winding staircase through to the bowels of the castle. As soon as we'd left the comfort of the main floor the dynamic had changed instantly and I knew as soon as we'd descended the winding staircase that the chill in the air had very little to do with the absence of heat.

The stairs made way for a long dark corridor, whose black mouldy brickwork was intermittently, but ineffectually, lit up by candlelight. Here, in this macabre place, not even their warmth or spirit could penetrate the saturating gloom.

Our footsteps reverberated ominously along the rough stones underfoot as I followed Angelina down the stone passageway, each footstep taking us deeper in to the snakes' pit. The air was intoxicatingly dense and heavy and I found it increasingly difficult to draw breath.

Along the way we passed a number students all of whom cast malevolent glares upon us. I'd blanched when we passed the first of them, a young second year girl, whose cold gaze lingered on me long after we'd crossed paths. Resentment radiated heavily from her and in the cramped confines of the dank corridors it was overwhelming. Dismayed I'd looked down upon myself, wondering what it was about me that could garner such abhorrence. But then my gaze had lighted on the red and gold stripe of my tie and the penny had dropped. I was a Gryffindor and she was a Slytherin. We were natural borne enemies and I was an unwanted intruder in to her part of the castle.

_Perhaps it was indicative of what was to come_, I thought wryly.

We entered one of the many nameless doorways on the left hand side, coming in to yet another dark room. On the left hand side were a series of workstations, on the right a few rows of desks, upon each of which sat a musty-looking book. Angelina and I settled ourselves in one of the rows near the back. I picked up the book in front of me, surprised that despite it decrepit appearance it didn't fall apart in my hands, and perused the first few pages with interest.

"Silence," a cold voice snapped as the classroom door slammed shut loudly behind us. Of all the things to command when entering the classroom this was the most absurd – there had been no chatter going on to begin with. On the contrary nothing in this desolate part of the castle stirred.

The man who entered was dressed from head to foot in heavy black robes. He strutted swiftly and purposefully toward the front of the class, his long, greasy hair flying out behind him. When he turned to address the congregation of students it was with a disapproving sneer upon his sallow, unpleasant face. His cold eyes, which were unquestionably as black as his heart, quickly scanned the room. Finding nothing of interest he turned, waving his hand with the air of boredom at the blackboard behind him.

"Today we will be brewing the Laeons Potion, renowned for being an antidote to most common poisons. The instructions are on page 253 of the books in front of you. This should be simple for even you dunderheads and I expect no less than Outstanding work," he paused to fix his icy gaze on the two students from Hufflepuff next to me. "From everyone."

The sandy-haired boy closest to me gulped under the scrutiny, slowly opening his book to the indicated page with a small amount of trepidation.

The classroom remained silent apart from the rustling of paper as the other students quickly riffled through their books to find the appropriate page too. I followed suit, but frowned as I read the instructions.

_Could that be right? _Tearing my eyes from the page I tentatively raised my hand in the air.

Professor Snape noticed immediately but remained silent. I knew he was deliberately ignoring me but I was not just about to let this go. After a few tense minutes he finally acknowledged me, with what was unmistakably irritation in his voice.

"Do you have a problem following instructions Miss –"

"Reed," I finished for him. "And no, Sir. I just wondered whether it would be more effective to use Yaevinn Leaves instead of Boomslang Skin?"

"Pardon me?" he asked, turning his attention fully on me for the first time. Beside me the sandy-haired boy flashed his eyes at me in silent warning. I chose not to heed this, continuing as I'd begun.

"Wouldn't the potion yield better results if we replaced the Boomslang Skin with a handful of Yaevinn Leaves, Sir?"

There was a very pregnant pause as Snape contemplated his answer. It seemed as though the entire class was waiting with baited breath for his reply.

"The instructions clearly state to use Boomslang Skin – "

"I'm aware of that, Sir," I pressed, not to be dissuaded, "but Yaevinn Leaves are more innocuous and would act as a better catalyst for the other active ingredients."

Snape's mouth thinned considerably and his eyes, if possible, turned even blacker. I could see he was resisting the urge to bare his teeth at me. It was evident from his stiff posture he knew I was right but stubbornly refused to acknowledge it, purely because I was a student and a Gryffindor at that. What's more was he was now firmly resolved to put me in my place.

"If you choose to use Yaevinn Leaves then that's on your own head," he snapped. "But should your potion not turn out then I shall deduct fifty points from Gryffindor!"

I glared back just as fiercely, incensed by his irrational behaviour. "And if it turns out better?"

"Then you shall receive fifty house points." His cold stare remained fixed on me for a moment longer as he appraised my defiance. Then he turned his attention back on the rest of the class. "Why are you all still sitting there?!"

As soon as the words had left his mouth there was a hurried scraping of chairs as the other class members rushed to their workstations. I remained in my seat a moment longer.

"Are you sure about this?" Angelina whispered to me. Her dark eyes were hesitant.

"Yes," I replied firmly, gathering my cauldron and ingredients and moving to the nearest workstation.

We worked virtually in silence. Snape strolled casually around the classroom from time to time, making snide comments to each student as he passed. When he came to me his mouth thinned again, but he said nothing. It was a silent affirmation that I was doing well and I felt slightly elated by his lack of judgement. By this stage my potion was simmering gently, a smooth aubergine colour, just as the instructions indicated.

Beside me the sandy-haired Hufflepuff boy was working furiously to correct whatever mistake he'd made to turn his potion in to a thick, gluggy mess. Steam rose heavily from his cauldron, the concoction bubbling ominously, as if on the verge of eruption. Snape sneered at him as he passed.

"You'll have to do better than that, Mr Diggory, if you expect to pass."

As soon as his back was turned I wordlessly passed him a vial of Ronx Bells. 'Two drops' I mouthed to him, making sure Snape remained ignorant of my intervention. He did as I said, smiling gratefully when the consistency of his potion evened out and the colour darkened significantly.

With a minute to spare I hastily chopped up the Yaevinn's Leaves and threw them in to my cauldron, holding my breath as I waited for them to work through the potion. Now that I'd done this I was feeling slightly less sure of myself.

_Perhaps it just would have been better to go with the prescribed ingredient after all_.

After a moment the concoction turned from a dark purple colour to pure white, silvery steam rising gently from its surface.

The results were spectacular, better than I could have hoped for if I'd used the Boomslang Skin. Angelina glanced sharply at me as I sighed with relief. Sheepishly I smiled at her in return.

"Time's up," Snape called, clapping his hands together. His dark gaze shifted instantly to me, a malevolent smile fixed on his pallid face. I could feel the challenge in his glare, delighting in the opportunity to prove me wrong.

He turned to appraise the other student's efforts first, deliberately taunting me by making me wait until last for his judgement. The time stretched uncomfortably as he made his way slowly around the classroom, adding and deducting house points as he saw fit.

Finally he made his way over to where Angelina and I stood. I watched as his greasy black locks fell into his face as he leaned over my potion. When he straightened up he seemed displeased.

"Fifty points to Gryffindor, then I suppose," he murmured silkily. Beside me Angelina's face broke out in to a wide grin. I resisted the urge to join in her elation, keeping my face impassive as Snape's cold gaze continued to linger on me.

"But," he continued, his eyes flashing menacingly. "You shall receive detention for assisting Mr Diggory with his work."

My jaw clenched tightly as I resisted the urge to rebuke his unfairness. Satisfying as it might be, it would serve no purpose to antagonise him further. Instead I graced him with an accepting, but sarcastic smile and proceeded to clean up our workstation.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"That's _so_ unfair!" Angelina stormed beside me as we made our way back to the great hall for lunch. She was visibly seething. "He was just punishing you for being right! How can he get away with that?"

Though I was touched by her outrage, in all honesty Snape's reaction really didn't bother me that much. I suppose subconsciously I believed I'd brought it on myself. As soon as he'd walked in to that classroom I'd realised he was the vindictive type. And I'd embarrassed him in front of his students. At least now I knew why the others resented the subject.

We joined Fred, George and the other girls who were already seated at our usual spot along the Gryffindor table, where Angelina wasted no time in retelling this morning's events to them.

"Cool!" Came the boys' reply. Their identical faces were now lit with identical smirks of admiration.

"I'd have paid to have seen Snape's face when you proved him wrong," agreed Katie with a laugh. "It almost makes me wish I hadn't given up the subject. Almost."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. I'd had transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, who I instantly appreciated to be a strict but fair teacher, followed by Charms with the tiny Professor Flitwick.

By the time dinner came around I was famished. The mental challenges I had been presented with during the day had been more taxing than I'd anticipated. Apparently Hogwarts wasn't going to be the walk in the park I'd expected.

Granted, the spell they'd had us practicing I'd pretty much mastered straight away, but I'd come to realise that these were subjects I cared about and that if I wanted to do well in them, rather than just pass, I would have to apply myself heavily to my studies.

Already I'd been given a mountain-load of homework and I was starting to wonder whether there were even enough hours in the day to complete the monstrous tasks the Professors had set. Pity Time-Turners weren't standard issue to students.

I'd just sat down beside Oliver when an icy hand clamped down on my shoulder. Turning swiftly to its source I realised I was staring in to the unpleasant face of Professor Snape. Unnervingly there was something different in the sharp expression he turned on me. It was almost . . . less resentful?

"Detention tonight, Miss Reed. The potions classroom, 7pm sharp."

I groaned, closing my eyes and pressing my face in to my hands as he walked off. I'd forgotten about that unpleasantness. Now I _knew _there was no way I was going to get through all my homework.

Oliver raised his eyebrows at me. "Detention already? You've only been here a few days."

I didn't turn to face him. "Let's just say I have a talent for trouble," I murmured.


	4. Chapter 4 – ForgetMeNot

Chapter 4 – Forget-Me-Not

_It's coming round again, slowly creeping in_

_Time in its command, soon enough it comes_

_It settles in its place, a shadow in my faith_

_It's pressure in my day_

_This life well slipping right through my hands_

_These days turned out like nothing I had planned_

_Control well it's slipping right through my hands_

– Powderfinger

It was almost 7pm by the time I'd finally managed to make my way back down to the dungeons. Not one for punishment I'd delayed my departure from the Great Hall as long as possible. Not that I had been much company anyway. For the most part I'd remained silent during the meal, only participating when someone asked me a question directly. Even then I'd barely heard much of the conversation around me. It was just background noise to my tumultuous and distracted mind.

I couldn't shake the feeling of dread for what was to come, particularly because Snape's demeanour towards me had changed so dramatically since our encounter this morning. Sporadically I'd felt his gaze light on the back of my head during the evening meal and I'd stiffened, cold goose bumps breaking out on my skin every time he did so. His gaze seemed to radiate the one trait that embodied all Slytherins – ambition – and I couldn't help feeling slight trepidation for what was to come.

I knocked once on the hard wooden door and took a deep, calming breath as I waited for the inevitable. Professor Snape opened the door a moment later. Though his cold eyes were still just as guarded and unreadable as before, there was a definite change in his countenance towards me as I walked in to the classroom, though I didn't understand it.

The room arrangement was identical to this morning's class apart from one small detail. One of the workstations had been set-up, a cauldron and a potions kit sat upon it for open view.

Snape closed the door behind me with an ominous 'snap' and I turned sharply at the sound, fixing him with a distrustful stare. _What the hell was this_?

He stared appraisingly at me for a moment before his mouth turned up in to what was supposed to be a slight smile. It did nothing to ease my discomfort.

"Detention shall be a little different tonight. I want you to brew something for me. The ingredients are all there and the instructions are on the blackboard," he said silkily.

Warily I turned to face the board. Though the potion had no title, I easily recognised list of ingredients and instructions.

"Veritaserum?" I choked out, shocked as the realisation of his intentions hit home.

This was a _test_. It was all a test. He wanted to see just how good I really was so that he could use me to his advantage. The ambition in his eyes I'd recognised earlier was for me. He saw me as a means to an end and planned to use my abilities to secure his own fame and recognition within the wizarding world. Slimy, snakey, filthy Slytherin scum -

Snape sneered, baring his teeth at me and interrupting my mental rant. "Yes. And I suggest you get started. If you can handle the challenge, that is . . . ." he trailed off disparagingly before seating himself behind the teacher's desk.

I stood frozen and swallowed hard, my eyes as wide as saucers. I didn't know what to do. Veritaserum was an extremely complicated potion, one that I knew I could make however. But the question remained _should _I make it. If I succeeded what would this mean? Surely Snape would continue to press me for his own advantages at every opportunity. But if I deliberately failed . . . . would the consequences be worse?

Once again the world of magic had cornered me and I was being forced to do something I really didn't want to do.

I sighed, suppressing the despondency that seemed to arise every time my exceptional skills made themselves known, and moved over to the prepared cauldron. As I looked down in to the small, black depths I realised that something was already simmering inside it. My jaw dropped and I turned Snape to point his out to him. He was already looking at me, the papers he was grading long forgotten, and I realised that this was part of the test – modify the recipe to suit what was already in the mix. Closing my jaw in irritation I turned back to the contents and begun the process of discerning what he'd already done to try and sabotage my attempts.

After a few long, hot hours I finally succeeded in producing an acceptable Veritaserum potion. By this stage sweat was pouring down my face and I was shaking slightly, drained from the mental exertion. Snape had made the process all the more difficult by starting with a concoction of Flobberworm juice, Manticore claws and Dragon Scales, all of which counteract the effects of Veritaserum spectacularly. It had taken me the better part of an hour just to appease the effects of those three ingredients before I could even begin making the actual potion.

Nevertheless, Snape seemed impressed when I handed him the vial of crystal clear liquid at the end of my feat. Though I could not share his obvious revelry at my success. Despite the fact that I was still unsure of where this would all lead, I was simply too exhausted display any emotion at all.

I let out a sigh of relief as soon as I'd been release and collapsed slightly against the wall opposite the Potions classroom, pressing my forehead to the mouldy stones and allowing their cool exterior to work on my overworked and subsequently numb mind. After a few moments of idle reprieve I was feeling a little better.

As I stood there an icy gust of air blew past me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I jerked back sharply from the wall as the sensation passed by. Something in the breeze had penetrated the thick fog surrounding my mind. It almost felt like a warning. I was quite on edge now, even through my daze. My heart was pounding heavily in my throat as I glanced warily down the length of the dark corridor.

I could not shake the feeling that I should be afraid, but as my eyes searched my hazy brain failed to register anything that should make me feel that way.

After a moment I allowed my mind to slip back in to oblivion, too fatigued to keep my guard up. Vaguely I registered that my feet were carrying me back in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

I was halfway back to the main floor when I was taken completely by surprise. One minute my feet had slowly been traversing the long dungeon corridor and the next I found myself pressed firmly into one of the dark alcoves that marred the walls. My face scraped roughly against the cold stones as my assailant pushed my body firmly against the wall in front of me. His brutal grip quickly twisted my right arm painfully behind my back, securing his dominance over my slight form.

I grimaced as my cheek and temple ground deeper against the mouldy brickwork with the motion. Dully I felt the skin tear and blood trickle down my face.

The stark contrast between the liquid's warmth trailing down my pale skin and the frozen barrier I was pressed against was enough to wake me from my hazy stupor.

I closed my eyes, suppressing a cry of dismay. I could feel the grittiness of dirt and grime being ground in to the wound on my cheek as I struggled slightly in my captor's grip. But my efforts were futile; he had me firmly trapped. For the third time in as many weeks I found myself backed in to a corner, only this time it was literal.

The iron fetters around my forearm tightened painfully and a burly body pressed firmly against my back. His face was now millimetres from my own. I felt his putrid breath caress my skin as he barked out a quiet laugh at my predicament.

"You just can't stay away from me, can you?" the harsh voice whispered in my ear.

My breath caught and my eyes snapped open I as recognised Marcus Flint. But even this was a wasted effort. The darkness of the alcove was thick and impenetrable. Not even the slightest glimmer of the safety of the corridor could be seen. I was trapped.

Behind me Marcus' breath became laboured as he trailed his free hand down my back. When he reached my waist his callused fingers slipped under the hem of my jumper. I froze completely as they scratched their way back and forth along the smooth skin of my lower abdomen.

Slowly, tauntingly he dipped his fingers lower, under the waistband of my skirt and then lower still.

"No –" I gasped, struggling once again in the prison of his arms. He barked out another laugh but did not cease his administrations. Instead he placed a rough kiss on the back of my neck.

With a soft cry I felt my resistance crumble at the touch, all hope draining out swiftly with it. I was powerless in his ruthless grasp, a slave to his abhorrent intentions.

The hopelessness of my situation forced hot tears into my eyes. They burned and stung as they clung desperately to my long eyelashes but I stubbornly refused to let them fall. This was my last grasp, my last lifeline, and I clung to it with all I was worth. He'd ripped every other shred from me when he'd forced me into this alcove, now this was the only control I had left. I would _not _give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. He may have had my body but he would _never _own me.

Distantly a door slammed and a pair of footsteps could be heard echoing down the desolate corridor. As I focussed hard on holding it together I vaguely noted that they were becoming louder.

Behind me Marcus noticed as well. His hand paused in its administrations, his fingers splaying out roughly and pressing even harder into my porcelain skin. I could feel his irritation at our interruption oozing through his callous touch.

Hissing one last sentiment in my ear before his hand crushed my forearm in a final parting gift he released me and disappeared silently into the darkness.

As soon as his grip left me I collapsed to the floor with another gasp. Blood rushed excruciatingly back in to my wrist but I paid it no heed as the reality of what just happened crashed abruptly around me. Suppressing a sob I pressed my trembling, defeated form back into the corner as much as possible.

I continued to huddle in the dark, my knees hugged to my chest, as the source of the footsteps gained my position. Keeping my eyes clenched and my head pressed down, I hoped whoever they were would not discover my desolate form. Fortunately they walked past, completely ignorant.

Alone now I unconsciously rubbed place on my forearm where Marcus had grabbed me, futilely begging the echoing feelings to pass. Though it was no longer painful I could still feel his hand on my arm, could feel his fingernails digging possessively in to my skin. He'd marked me with his tight grasp and now the flesh continued to burn with the repulsiveness of his intentions.

I felt sick. As I looked down the skin seemed to pulsate with the memory of his parting words.

"_You're mine. . . "_


	5. Chapter 5 – Caught in the Path

Chapter 5 – Caught in the Path Like a Startled Deer

_If I smile and don't believe_

_Soon I know I'll wake from this dream_

_Don't try to fix me _

_I'm not broken_

_Hello, I'm the lie living for you_

_So you can hide_

– Evanescence

Somehow I made it back to Gryffindor tower. At some point in time I'd managed to make my body rise from its hiding hole. How and when I'm not entirely sure.

In the wake of the attack my mind ceased to function and things became a blur. One minute I was cowering in the alcove vainly listening for passing footsteps and the next I was sprinting up the moving staircases to the seventh floor.

By the time I reached the portrait hole I was completely breathless. Here I paused, placing my hands on my knees and bending over in an attempt to compose myself.

"My, you look like you lost a fight with a Blast Ended Skrewt," the Fat Lady said in her usual haughty tone. "I should expect more grace from a lady of the House of Gryffindor."

I looked up to see her eyes running over me, a disapproving expression on her rounded face. I close my eyes, suppressing another bout of tears, as my heart sank further at the disparaging remark.

"Fiery Starlight," I muttered, keeping my gaze firmly fixed on the ground to avoid further scrutiny.

The portrait swung open and I walked wordlessly and dejectedly into the warmth of the common room.

Before the door had even had a chance to slam shut behind me I was seized by two pairs of identical arms. The twins looped their arms through mine, gently but forcefully directing me towards the couches in front of the fireplace. Numbly I walked with them, having neither the presence of mind nor the spirit to resist.

"Ah, the triumphant returns," Fred said from my left hand side. His bright blue eyes fixed me with a teasing stare.

"Pray tell, Miss Reed, how was your first detention with the delectable – "

"Blimey, you look terrible," Fred interrupted his twin as he finally absorbed my appearance. All joking was aside now as he continued seriously, "Are you alright?"

Quickly the twins settled me on the nearest seat before crouching down in front of me. Their freckled faces were worried as they fully appreciated my ruined demeanour.

My brow creased and I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than to disappear entirely. I knew they were only concerned but right now I didn't have the strength for an interrogation. I was barely holding myself together as it was. I felt thin, stretched even, my resolve was scarcely holding out and I knew that if they continued to press me I'd crumble entirely.

"I'm fine," I heard myself murmur. As I said the words some part of me willed them to be true.

"No you're not," Katie's soft voice, laced with anxiety, sounded beside me. "You're as white as a ghost." My resolve cracked a little further with the weight of her concern and I unconsciously let out a soft gasp.

My eyes snapped open and I jerked back as I felt her thumb softly stroke the graze on my cheek. She withdrew with a hurt expression, startled by my response. Silently I berated myself. But I couldn't have helped it, my response had been automatic. However innocent the gesture had been it was too much for me right now. It brought the unpleasant memories of the evening back in to sharp light. They were still so fresh and without much concentration at all I could recall every awful detail, so much so that I almost felt like his hands were still on me.

"Isobel, please," Katie encouraged quietly, "tell us what happened." Her dark eyes beseeched my own. I tore my gaze away from hers, feeling myself crumble just that little bit further.

Instead I turned my wide eyes to the fireplace in front of me. Despite its warmth I shivered, unable to dispel the feeling that irreparable damage had already been done. The foundations had been shaken. Now cracked and weakened, I felt like it was only a matter of time before they gave out from under me completely and as the memories of Flint's scratching grasp on my bare skin threatened to engulf me again, it was hard to see any other outcome.

I bit my lip and stared entranced into the flames, watching, but not really seeing, as the flames hungrily engulfed the logs it had been stoked with. The knowledge that this was not over positively burned through me.

The fire in my own life had started the minute I'd received that blasted letter. From the moment I'd opened it I'd set myself in the path of a raging inferno, which was currently acting in the form of Marcus Flint. It burned, twisted and spat at everything I'd ever stood for. Even now I could feel its heat, its insatiable lust for chaos and destruction creeping up slowly behind me, seeking to devour every aspect of my soul. And once it was through, once the core of my strength crumbled to its will, all that would be left in its wake would be a wretched pile of ashes; a bitter remnant of the person I once was.

"I'm fine," I heard myself murmur the same sentiment but with no more conviction than I had the first time.

Just as I was now, watching from the couch, I was a spectator to the destruction of my own life, powerless to stop the inferno's advances.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The night passed even more achingly slowly than the previous evening. The difference this time was I was quite happy for it to do so.

I stared at the ceiling of my canopy as the darkness stretched around me. There was something very comforting about the dead of the night. It was like a thick blanket, surrounding, protective and enrapturing. In the darkness I could hide.

I kept my eyes open. Sleep would not have found me anyway but it was simply easier for me to stay awake. I had tried to sleep at one point but with nothing else to distract me, the events of the evening came back into sharp focus, causing my heart to twist painfully again.

It was a small thought, but at least when my eyes were open I could see something other than his malevolent expression, could focus on something other than the feeling of his callous flesh on mine.

Inevitably the sun's long rays eventually cast through my window. As the orange beam caressed my skin it offered me nothing; neither the warmth nor the hope that it once would have. It may have been light now in the small dormitory but as far as I could see the darkness remained.

As the morning slowly approached I realised I was torn. After the events in the common room last night the very last thing I wanted was another interrogation. But given the way I'd presented, bedraggled and shaking, it was almost certain the girls would press me again. It would be easy to escape them if I left the dormitory right now but at the same time I did not want to be alone. I was afraid to be alone.

A groan from the bed on my left alerted me to the fact that I was already too late. The source of the disturbance, Alicia, rolled over to face me, her light blue eyes fixing warily on my face as she woke. With no small amount of effort I forced a tentative smile on my face.

My muscles moved with the motion, lifting the corners of my mouth but there was no emotion behind the gesture. It felt fake; a pathetic façade to cover the hollowness I felt.

Alicia's returning smile was just as false as my own. We both knew something was wrong, but like two peas from the same pod, we both refused to acknowledge that out loud.

Wordlessly she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, running her hand through her tousled hair.

"That time of the day again," she muttered darkly, rising and moving to search for clean clothing in the trunk at the end of her bed.

Utilising her distraction I quietly rose and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. My eyes closed and I leaned against the door to my sanctuary with a heavy sigh. Time was limited however, I would not be able to hide out here forever. I was only delaying the inevitable.

Swallowing roughly I slowly lifted my gaze to survey the damage in the bathroom's small mirror.

The first thing that drew my attention was the dark graze on my right cheek. I turned my face slightly to examine it better. The wound was clearly filthy; grains of dirt mingled with blood trailed down my otherwise smooth cheek.

Sighing I reached for the nearest washcloth and ran it under the tap. Carefully I traced this over the scrape, cleaning the grime from the wound. It smarted, but the pain was superficial and I ignored it, thinking it was unfortunate I couldn't wash away all bad memories that easily.

Carefully I continued to survey my reflection. The rest of me had not faired much better. My skin, which was naturally pale already, was even more pallid than usual. It looked dull and lifeless in the dim candlelight. Deep purple shadows marred the skin under my eyes, testimony to my sleepless night. But the most obvious difference, the one that was hardest to hide, was the emptiness in the blue orbs that reflected back at me. I looked worn; used and discarded.

Pulling out my wand I started with the process of at least trying to make myself look human again. Carefully I applied a light amount of make-up to my wasted face, paying particular attention to the bruise-like formations under my eyes. Courtesy of the Irisian Charm, which brightens eyes, I was finally starting to look normal again. Quickly I pulled a brush through my long dark locks. Normally I would have tied my hair up but today my wavy tresses would serve as a convenient shield from the rest of the world.

Camouflage now in place I opened the door of the bathroom to face the unavoidable.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The wooden bench I now sat on was as uncomfortable as possible and I shifted slightly, trying vainly to find a better position. Beside me Alicia doodled on the piece of parchment in front of her, ignoring the banal drawlings of the wizard at the front. Apparently she was just as thrilled to be here, in the first class for the morning, as I was.

To my utter relief the girls in my dorm had come to some unspoken agreement to give me some space. When I'd emerged from the bathroom this morning, looking marginally livelier than when I'd entered, they'd only given vague reference to my bedraggled appearance last night.

The twins on the other hand, had been less sensitive. They'd insisted on escorting me arm-in-arm down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Initially they'd led me to the west side of the long benches that lined the hall, which would have placed us facing the Slytherin table. I'd balked, insisting that we sat on the other side. The last thing I wanted to see right now was the knowing glint in Marcus' eyes. They'd exchanged a confused glance at my odd request but had agreed nonetheless.

As I had sat beside them, playing with my food, I had felt eyes on the back of my head. _His_ eyes. I'd stiffened, my stomach churning uncomfortably, threatening to regurgitate the small amount of food I'd already swallowed. Unwillingly my mind's eye had drawn into sharp focus the smell of his breath on my face and the feeling of his rough hands under my shirt, forcing me to close my eyes. Bile had burned in the back of my throat at the painful memories.

"You ok?" George had asked, elbowing me lightly in the ribs.

My eyes had snapped open and I'd blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the ugly images. "Yeah," I'd murmured unconsciously and picked up my spoon again.

After that the hunk of porridge on the end of my implement seemed less than

appealing. But George had still been looking questioningly at me so I'd forced it down my throat, feeling it catch and choke on the pain that had lumped there.

Once it was down, sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach, I'd turned to George, fixing him with a slight smile. I could tell he hadn't believed it. My smile had faltered slightly as he'd continued to stare worriedly at me. Creasing my brow I'd turned my gaze down to the bowl of mush in front of me.

It was harder to pretend things were normal when they insisted on treating me like a fragile china doll.

"And five times winner of Witch Weekly's most Charming Smile Award," Lockheart's fickle voice broke my reverie. He turned an idiotic grin on the class, ignorant of the students' complete and utter disdain. I rubbed a sluggish hand down my face.

"But of course, I'm not this class's only celebrity," he cooed. "Amongst you is another recipient of the Order of the Merlin. Where is she, where is Miss Reed?"

I froze, a cold sweat breaking out on my pallid skin as his bright blue eyes searched around the room for me.

Merlin, why me? Why couldn't a pit open up in the centre of the classroom right now and swallow me whole?

"Ah, there she is," he cried triumphantly, clapping his hands together. "Well, don't be modest, my dear, stand up," Lockheart encouraged.

I lifted my eyes from the scarred desk in front of me to meet his excited gaze. My breath caught at his expression and I felt my breakfast rise, threatening to make an appearance again. It was too much. The glint shining in his eyes was so familiar. It was the exact same expression Professor Snape had fixed me with in detention the previous night. It was the look he had given me just before . . . . . ._no._

I swallowed hard. I had to get out of there. Hurriedly I threw my belongings in my bag and rose from my seat.

"'Scuse me," I murmured to Lockheart's feet as I pushed my way out of the suffocating classroom.


	6. Chapter 6 – In the Arms of the Angel

Chapter 6 – In the Arms of the Angel, Fly Away From Here

_I don't know to who to trust, no surprise_

_Everyone feels so far away from me_

_Heavy thoughts sift through dust and the lies_

_Trying not to break but I'm so tired of this deceit_

_Every time I try to make myself get back upon my feet_

_All ever think about is this_

_All the tiring time between_

– Linkin Park

I ran. My feet descended the curved stairway that lead to Lockheart's classroom in what can only be described as record time. I sprinted hard down the fifth floor corridor, trying to suppress the panic that gripped my heart. No matter how fast I fled it still wasn't fast enough. The inferno was still behind me, still chasing, only now the light from the inescapable blaze was casting long, mocking shadows. They danced in front of my feet, seeming to grow taller and more dominating with each of my steps. 'You deserved this,' they said.

As a sharp moment of paranoia hit me I turned back to look behind me as I tore down the empty corridor, not entirely convinced that _he_ wasn't behind me.

Wham –

My body collided heavily with someone and I felt a pair of strong hands clamp around my waist to steady me.

I jumped back, my hands automatically flying to my mouth to cover my gasp as my startled expression met that of Oliver Wood. His dark chocolate eyes were concerned as he took me in. My camouflage was useless at this point; there was no hiding my wide eyes or the fearful expression on my face.

"God, Isobel, are you alright?" he said, dropping his bag on the floor.

His expression was so genuinely concerned that I felt my heart clench painfully again. Without another thought I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms tightly around his shoulders and burying my face in the smooth skin of his neck. He stumbled slightly under my sudden weight but didn't hesitate to return the gesture.

"Shh, it's alright," he soothed, as he stroked my back gently. I knew I was trembling in his arms, and felt slightly ashamed by that fact, but there was nothing I could do to stop.

Oliver continued to hold me for a moment. I didn't want to let him go. It was so safe in his embrace, so warm and comforting.

I breathed deeply against his shoulder, inhaling his sweet, innocent scent and allowing it to calm my panicked mind.

Gently he pushed me back after a moment to look in to my eyes, but his hands remained reassuringly on my shoulders.

"Please, Is, tell me what's wrong?"

There was that question again, the one I really didn't want to answer. I turned away to look out the window.

"It's nothing," I answered, blinking my eyes slowly and deliberately to hide the pain of my expression.

Oliver made an impatient sound. Carefully he placed a pair of fingers under my chin, gently turning my face back to his. His hand cupped my face, his thumb stroking over my icy cheek as I met his gaze again.

"It's not 'nothing'," he insisted quietly. "You wouldn't be crying if it were 'nothing'."

My jaw dropped slightly at his soft words. I was crying? How did I not know?

I pulled away from Oliver's touch, wiping the tears I now recognised from my face.

This had gone too far. He couldn't know and I'd already given away too much.

I took another few tentative backward steps before turning and running off in the direction I'd come from.

"Isobel, wait," Oliver called after me, shocked by the sudden change in my behaviour.

But I didn't stop.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Hagrid's Hut blew past me in a blur. I was panting hard, but not from exhaustion. It was more unbridled panic that kept my heart sprinting and my breath gasping. No matter how laboured I was I could not stop.

The sun beat heavily down on my back as I ran. I could feel its warmth on my skin but it did nothing to warm my heart.

The shadow still ran in front of me only now it had taken on the shape of my own silhouette. Taller than myself it seemed to be running backwards, facing me with a contemptuous stare at every step I took.

Unwillingly I realised I was heading for the coldest, most isolated part of the castle grounds. My feet had unconsciously carried me here when I'd fled from Oliver.

When I burst into the shade of the cruel and twisted trees I finally found reprieve. But still I did not slow down.

As soon as I'd entered the forbidden forest I'd been stripped. I'd left everything of myself behind at the border. All that remained was the most primal instinct. Run.

And so I did, leaping and weaving deftly through the tall obstacles, deeper in to the unknown depths. The air around me was quiet apart from the sounds of protest from the ground beneath my feet. Branches, leaves and twigs crunched and groaned as the unforgiving soles of my shoes suppressed them further.

Sharply the atmosphere darkened and I froze, absorbing the damaged scene around me. The trees here were different from the ones I'd first encountered. Their skins were dark, almost black. Deeply pockmarked and scarred, they twisted harshly, weaving and bending around each other. They were hideously deformed, a butchered version of their cousins at the forest margins.

Tears forced their way back in to my eyes as I realised the horrible reality – I should have felt at home here.

I began to run again, away from the awful scene, sprinting harder than I had been before. There was almost a desperation to the heavy beat of my feet. Gradually the horror of the environment around me eased. I felt my heart unclench infinitesimally, allowing me to breath slightly easier.

But as the awfulness of the scene lessened so did the density of the trees. And just as sharply I was faced with it again. Behind my back the sun broke through the canopy above and once again I was faced with the accusatory length of my own shadow.

My knees gave out beneath me and I fell roughly to the forest floor with a sob. It was a painful reminder that no matter how fast you flee you cannot outrun yourself.

---------------------------------------------------------------

I felt significantly calmer as I slowly made my way to the Quidditch Pitch in the late afternoon sun. Perhaps it was just exhaustion. I'd stayed in the forest for the remainder of the day. With my face pressed into the rough foliage of the forest floor I'd sobbed until my throat ached. Gradually the pain had dulled and I'd managed to make myself rise.

Though my shadow still danced sardonically in front of me it barely had any influence. I was resigned to its presence and the fact that there was nothing I could do about the destruction it threatened to rain down upon me.

Though I'd already missed the day's classes for some inexplicable reason I felt I couldn't miss this evening's Quidditch Training. Perhaps it was guilt; I'd be letting the rest of the team down this time instead of just myself.

Even though attending the practice meant facing Oliver again. It was cowardly that I'd run from him before. He'd clearly just been worried about me and had wanted to help. But ashamed I'd fled to find sanctuary in the solace of the forbidden forest of all places. Some Gryffindor I turned out to be.

Before long the tall bleachers of the Quidditch Pitch were before me. I walked around the outskirts of it before heading down the steps to the change rooms below.

The corridor underneath the pitch was a long white tunnel marked with four identical doors on one side, each designated to a different house.

My feet carried me quickly down the tunnel to the door on the far side. Naturally my pace had increased marginally when I'd walked past the Slytherin change room.

With ease I pushed open the white wooden door, revealing its dimly lit depths. The room itself was divided roughly in to three parts. On the left, hidden behind a wall were the boys' showers and on the right, similarly placed, were the girls'. The middle of the change room was common ground and housed lockers for each player and a series of long wooden benches.

As soon as I walked in I was immediately assaulted.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" Angelina shrieked, slamming the door of her locker shut with a loud crash. She glared fiercely at me, her dark eyes mirroring anger.

I turned to the left, away from her harsh expression as the sounds of rapid footsteps from the boys' side joined us. They darted quickly around the corner, each in various states of dress, to determine the cause of the commotion.

Fred and George, who were fully clothed in their Quidditch robes, both greeted me with wicked smiles before they turned their attention to their lockers, hastily throwing their crumpled school clothes inside.

Behind them Oliver, who was dressed only in a pair of track pants, eyed me cautiously up and down. I faltered under his scrutiny, dropping my gaze as the shame of my earlier cowardice recalled itself.

A firm hand closed around my wrist, distracting me, before I was spun roughly around. I winced slightly as Angelina's fingers inadvertently pressed against the dark bruise _he_ had given me the day before.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were?" she hissed venomously. Her eyes bore heavily in to my own.

"Sorry," I murmured, my eyes falling to the floor under the weight of my guilt once again. My long locks fell around my face, shielding my expression from the rest of our observers. I could feel Angelina's dark stare continue to linger on my face but I could not bring myself to meet it. Eventually her hand released my wrist.

I sighed and I walked wordlessly over to my locker to collect my own Quidditch robes.

Dully I heard the door to the locker room slam shut behind me. Frustrated by my lack of understanding or explanation Angelina had snatched up her broom and stormed out. Throwing me an apologetic look Fred and George departed too.

"Sorry," I murmured quietly again. Though I knew it would take a lot more than empty words spoken to a dark, hollow locker to make things right.

Suddenly Oliver Wood was in front of me, looking deep into my eyes. As I stared back into his chocolate depths I instantly recognised the same look of concern from before, only now it was mingled with something else. Hurt, perhaps?

He dropped his gaze to the floor, frowning unhappily as he did.

"Why did you run from me earlier?" He asked quietly. Now there was no mistaking the pain.

I turned away from him to press my forehead against the cool metal of my locker door. I swallowed heavily as self-resentment flashed through me. Not only was I tearing myself up, my actions were hurting those around me too.

There were so many things I wanted to tell him – I wanted to apologise, to beg for forgiveness, I wanted to tell him I was afraid, that I needed his help – but I couldn't and before I could stop myself another lie had choked its way out of my throat.

"I don't know," I said in a strangled whisper.

Tears burned the back of my eyelids again. I should have been dry, emotionally devoid, but just as sharply the feelings of pity, hate and frustration resurfaced and once again I was saturated, positively drowning in the sense of my own worthlessness. I loathed myself for being weak, for being powerless, for hurting those I cared about, but mostly I loathed myself because, as the shadow kept reminding me, '_I deserved this'_.

Pain bubbled its way to the surface and I inhaled sharply, suppressing a sob as my clouded gaze flicked back to Oliver's.

"I'm so sorry." The words bled out of my cracked soul and I felt myself crumble just that little bit further. Oliver bit his lip, looking anguished as drops of crystal regret trailed their way down my cheeks again. Wordlessly he pulled me into the comfort of his arms. I wrapped my arms around his bare back with a shudder as I tried to control my emotions.

His fingers tangled themselves in my hair as he held me tightly against him.

"Please let me help you," he pleaded.

Torn, I bit my lip.

"I – "

We jerked apart quickly as the locker room door opened again, admitting a tired and drawn looking Harry Potter. His green eyes rose questioningly as he took our startled expressions. Then his gaze landed on the tears running down my face and his expression hardened.

"Isobel," he began, turning an accusatory glance on Oliver. "Are you alright?"

Oliver opened his mouth, shocked by the implied allegation. Before he could utter a word I took his warm hand in my own. His tentative eyes met my own

"No," I murmured, squeezing Oliver's fingers gently. "But I will be."


	7. Chapter 7 Breaking the Habit

Chapter 7 – Breaking the Habit

_She said I need you to hold me_

_I'm a little far from the shore_

_And I'm afraid of sinking_

_You're the only one who knows me_

_And who doesn't ignore that my soul is weeping_

- Santana & Steven Tyler

In the end it had been Oliver's warmth, his light, that had strengthened my resolve. The raw honesty in his eyes had penetrated even my numb heart. He truly cared for me and was determined to help me in any way that he could.

I'd made a decision that day – that I would no longer let Marcus Flint have any hold over me. My destruction still loomed perpetually behind me, I could feel its heat on my back every minute of every day, but the stranglehold it previously held had eased. I had resolved that I would not let this affect my life any longer. Or at least give the appearance that it wasn't.

Several weeks had already passed since that day in the locker room and so far I felt I'd done a pretty admirable job of keeping up appearances. Though it hadn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination.

The first time I'd entered the dungeons since the attack had been the most difficult to bear. Angelina and I had been on our way to our second potions class for the year. I'd broken out in a cold sweat as soon as our feet had descended the winding staircase that led to the darkened corridor. But I'd clenched my jaw and stared determinedly straight ahead as we walked to our classroom. With some difficulty I'd managed to ignore the panicky feelings that had threatened to overwhelm me but despite how hard I'd tried I had not been able to block out the memories. As painful recollections assaulted me I noticed trickles of moisture pooling down the rustic stone walls. They seemed to be weeping, bleeding out along with my soul.

As we'd passed the alcove where it had happened I'd been unable to stop my head from turning in its direction. I'd half expected _him _to be there and it was only after I realised he wasn't that I was able to breathe easier.

I'd seen _him_ several times since then. He looked me up and down hungrily every time we'd crossed paths. To this day I still couldn't suppress the feelings of panic nor the bile in my throat that his repulsive smile brought on. Nor could I stop myself from stiffening or the hairs rising on the back of my neck every time I felt his gaze land on me. He seemed to be toying with me, biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to finish what he'd started. And he was clearly enjoying the power.

To say I was afraid would be an understatement. I was terrified – completely, utterly and overwhelmingly petrified – and it took every ounce of my strength to control any outward expression of this.

My greatest fear, aside from the obvious, was that that someone else would discover my plight. I was still wholeheartedly ashamed by what had happened.

For the most part I think I hid my reactions well. The others were all but oblivious.

It was only Oliver, who had hovered protectively over me since that day in the locker room, who's careful gaze failed to miss the way I'd shiver suddenly or stiffen whenever so much as _his_ name was mentioned.

He and I hadn't really spoken about that day or the events that had led up to it since. But I couldn't shake the feeling that, despite how normally I acted, Oliver knew things truly weren't as well with me as I portrayed.

He was right, of course.

But it was only when the dark of night fell that I truly let myself go. The feelings were still there – the fear, the resentment, the powerlessness. Despite how hard I'd fought against myself the events of that evening still gripped my heart and I often woke abruptly in the dead of the night drenched in a cold sweat, my heart sprinting in my chest. All these weeks along the feeling of _his _hands running across my skin was still fresh in my mind. It still brought that heavy sick feeling to my throat and kept my eyes firmly open for the rest of the night. I hated my body for betraying my intentions.

Usually when I woke like this I went downstairs to the empty common room. There I'd sit, in front of the fire, watching the flames engulf something else for a change.

In the dead of the night there was no denying that things were not all right. I was still damaged, only now the cracks had been hastily plastered over. But it was a patch job. The cracks still ran deep and it would only be a matter of time before they surfaced again.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Once again I found myself sitting behind those exceedingly uncomfortable desks in Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. I'm entirely convinced they deliberately made the seats that uncomfortable so students would be unable to sleep during Professor Lockhart's dull ramblings.

Predictably, said wizard paced back and forth in front of the class, smiling idiotically at the idle faces around him. With every breath he took he seemed more and more astounded by his own magnificence. Stupid git.

By this stage through the year the walls of the classroom were literally wallpapered with pictures of himself. Like the real-life version each of the pictorials was plastered with the same fake smile and strutted back and forth from one frame edge to the other with the same arrogant swagger.

I'll admit that when I'd first enrolled in Hogwarts DADA had been one of the classes I'd been most looking forward to. Everyone could benefit from a bit more education in magical defence. These lessons, however, were nothing short of excruciating.

The only thing 'Dear Gilderoy' wanted to talk about each lesson were stories, well, fantasies really, of brave and spectacular deeds that he'd apparently achieved.

Each tale he told seemed to be more and more challenging and intricate than the last and as his drawlings continued I found it increasingly difficult to believe his tales. Professor Lockhart had less intelligence than a flobberworm and it was clear to me that these deeds he claimed to have achieved were a complete fabrication. Don't try telling that to Hermione though.

I watched him through half-lidded eyes from my seat at the rear of the classroom.

I'd been more than a little anxious when I'd entered the classroom this morning. It was inexplicable. I felt like I was waiting for some tragedy to occur. But we were now more than halfway through the class and nothing more exciting than a fly landing in the open mouth of a snoring Roger Davies had occurred.

I snapped awake suddenly as Professor Lockhart clapped his hands loudly together. My eyes quickly scanned the room, noting that I had not been the only one woken. It was a move that had drawn the attention of the entire class, who thirty seconds ago had been less animated than a group of stone trolls.

"I have a special treat for you today," the wizard continued. His blond hair shook as he looked around the class with a knowing expression.

I swallowed heavily, desperately hoping that my anxiety had been ill founded.

Professor Lockhart rounded the blackboard, disappearing from sight for a moment. Beside me Alicia sat up a little straighter, straining to see what he was doing. I exchanged a wary glance with her.

Though it had yet to happen to us we'd heard stories from the others in our house about Professor Lockhart's 'special treats'. Harry, Ron and Hermione's tale of the Cornish Pixies took the cake. That was disastrous enough. But they were second years and we were fifth years, logic dictated that our 'special treat' should be far more hazardous.

After a moment Professor Lockhart emerged pushing ahead of him a glass container. It was huge, easily size of a small room, and I wondered how I'd managed to miss it before. Covered by a dark silk cover the contents of the container remained hidden from view.

"Now," Lockhart breathed as he finished pushing the container to the front of the class. He was panting and leaning heavily against the confinement. After a moment he calmed and strutted forward with an excited expression.

"Prepare to be amazed," he continued with an exaggerated air of mystery. "This is a creature rarely seen in this part of the world and it has taken me a long time to track one down. Now, BEHOLD!" With the last word he whipped the cover from the container.

The class collectively took in an anticipatory breath as they stared at the contents. But this evaporated quickly and looks of confusion marred the thirty faces instead.

Inside the glass confinement sat a young, scantily clad woman. She was truly a picture of beauty with long flowing raven hair and dark, intelligent eyes. Her clothing consisted of a short dress, torn all over in a very revealing fashion. She sat upon a collection of small rocks. Inside the container a small, golden harp was her only other companion.

_._

Up front, Professor Lockhart was still grinning idiotically, glancing from face to face, searching for the incredulity he seemed to think he deserved.

I groaned internally. Only I seemed to recognise the creature for what it was. _Not good._

"Can anyone tell me what we have here," Lockhart asked, indicating the young caged woman. He looked back behind him eyeing the creature up and down. It responded by smiling widely and shaking her long river of black hair behind her. Professor Lockhart looked slightly struck.

Predictably, I was the only student to raise a hand.

"It's a Siren, Sir," I answered. "Sirens are water spirits originating from the island Sirenum Scopuli. They're half-women seductresses in the physical form of a female but they were ancestrally birds. From their homes composed entirely of rocks and cliff-faces they call to passing sailors compelling them to shipwreck on the rocky coast. The term 'siren-song' refers to their physical and musical appeal, which is difficult to resist, but inevitably results in death."

Professor Lockhart was still facing the Siren. His eyes seemed fixed on her impossibly long, smooth legs, and I wondered if he'd even heard me.

"Excellent, excellent," he muttered distractedly, stroking his chin as he took in the creature's formidable form. Something seemed to snap and he jerked suddenly, turning around to face the class again.

"Ahem," he struggled, loosening his robes from around his neck. "Ten points to Gryffindor, then."

Behind him the Siren stood up and placed her hands on the glass barrier in front of her. She was eyeing Professor Lockhart with a tormented expression. Her eyebrows were pulled up and in the silence of the classroom I noticed that her throat was emitting a light rumbling sound. It was as if she was 'cooing' to him, the way that a pigeon would.

Lockhart's eyes glazed slightly as he registered the sound and he turned back to face her.

I shuddered in my seat as the tune pulsed around me. There was almost a magnetic pull to it. The Siren was so young and beautiful and she looked so helpless. Her dark eyes were deeply anguished as they flicked from face to face. I pitied the poor girl's plight.

Wait, _what_?

I shook my head sharply, dispelling the influence of her voice. Merlin, it had only been a few minutes and I'd already fallen under her spell.

I ignored the vibrations that continued to emanate from her throat, consciously blocking them from my head.

My eyes darted quickly around the classroom and I realised with a small amount of dismay that most of the class were completely captivated by the foul creature's call. Beside me Alicia's jaw hung slackly as she stared dully ahead.

At the front of the class Lockhart's face still had the look of a mindless drone. He was walking ever so slowly to the side of the container.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," he murmured to himself.

I stared, horror-struck, as he reached for the cage door.

"No!" I shouted, leaping from my chair. Automatically my hand plunged into my robes and came out clutching my wand.

"Aard!" I yelled, flicking my wand at the Professor. He was blasted away from the cage door as the force of my spell slammed into his defenceless form. His body crumpled against he floor with a sickening 'crunch' several metres from where he'd been standing. But I did not have time to regret my actions.

Immediately I sprinted towards the front of the class, heading straight for the creature. Still caged, she thumped angrily against the glass barrier. Her face was no longer a picture of beauty, it had contorted repulsively and she now hissed menacingly at me as I sought to cover her back up.

Behind me the rest of the class seemed to wake from their hazy stupor as the Siren's song ceased. I could feel their shocked stares on my back but I didn't have time to dwell on such thoughts.

Only one other student reacted to my outburst. Cedric Diggory, who had been sitting in the front row, had risen from his seat and was now helping me pull the silk fabric back over the container. Between the two of us we quickly hid the creature from view.

I breathed a sigh of relief once the cover was firmly fixed in place, before turning around to face the rest of the class.

Twenty-eight stunned faces stared back at me. No one seemed to quite know what to make of my actions. On my left even Cedric was eyeing me with an air of apprehension.

But before I could say anything the classroom door opened, admitting a very stern looking Professor McGonagall.

"Right," she snapped, staring around the classroom with a hardened expression. "What exactly is going on here?" Her sharp grey gaze landed on me last of all.

"Oh my," McGonagall gasped, noting the crumpled form of our teacher behind me. She brushed roughly past before kneeling over his fallen form. "Tell me what happened. Now." She commanded.

"Ask _her,_" a Slytherin boy by the name of Courtney Alfred answered, pointing shakily at me. His eyes were wide and he was glaring at me with a mixture of accusation and terror. I bowed my head, suddenly ashamed of my reaction.

McGonagall stood and walked towards me. She seemed to be towering over me.

"Miss Reed," she barked questioningly. There was no denying that tone.

"He brought a Siren to class, Professor," I began quietly. "And was taken in by her song."

Though my gaze remained determinedly fixed on the floor by my feet I could feel Professor McGonagall's gaze firmly on my face. The silence seemed to stretch for an eternity before she finally spoke again.

"Return to your dormitories, all of you."

---------------------------------------------------------------

The flames of the common room fire shone before my eyes. It was yet another reminder that I could not escape their malice. Today's catastrophic lesson was just another echo of their influence over my life.

I sighed and pressed my face to my knees as I hugged them to my chest. I had come here as instructed after our disastrous Defence Against the Dark Arts class this morning. Fortunately the common room was empty. The other Gryffindors in my class, including Alicia, had gone out to sit by the lake after Professor McGonagall had dismissed us.

Right now, the solitude was something I was quite thankful for.

No one had, as of yet, told me whether I was to be punished for my hasty actions. It seemed inevitable that I would be though - I had knocked out a teacher, for crying out loud. I could only hope that the reprimand would only be a detention or two.

A warm hand stroked across my back and I felt a body slide along next to mine.

"I heard what happened," Oliver Wood's voice broke the atmosphere. His strong arm was draped across my shoulders.

I groaned at his words but didn't lift my face from my knees.

"Great. Pretty soon the whole school will think I'm a freak," I muttered darkly. Beside me I felt him chuckle slightly.

"No one thinks that."

I frowned slightly into my knees as I recalled Courtney's frightened expression. He hadn't been afraid of the Siren, he had been afraid of _me_. And he wouldn't be the only one to react that way once the rest of the school found out about the incident.

"You didn't see their faces," I murmured, trying to keep the pain from my voice. Fear was the last thing I wanted to inspire in people. It just reinforced the belief that I was dangerous and didn't belong here.

I lifted my face to look into Oliver's eyes. "They were afraid of me."

Understanding broke out on his face and he pulled me against his chest. "Well, they're fools then, if they don't see the heroics of what you did." I snorted against him at the last part.

"They are," he continued softly, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. "If you hadn't reacted the way you did the Siren would have killed every one of you. It's like you said, there's no resisting the Siren's call."

Oliver's hand lingered on my cheek, his thumb softly stroking it. Unlike _his _touch, Oliver's caress was warm and gentle. His chocolate eyes were positively melting into my own. I stared back, captivated by his raw honesty. He really was beautiful. Aside from his enchanting gaze he had a short shock of dark hair that was perpetually messy and a thin, strong face. A light dusting of freckles decorated the bridge of his tanned nose. Then there was the accent; his thick Scottish Brogue was like liquid honey – smooth, sweet and addictive.

We stared for an endless moment at one another before I finally came to my senses. Our bodies were pressed firmly together – I could feel every inch of his fit, muscular chest against my own – and our faces were mere inches apart. It was a little too close for comfort.

Carefully I reached up, never breaking eye contact, to take the hand stroking my face in my own. I shifted back slightly, separating our bodies as I lowered our clasped hands to his lap.

Confusion flicked briefly across Oliver's face as he looked down at out entwined fingers. His gaze then flicked back to my own. I smiled slightly at him before giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

We both jumped when the door to the common room crashed loudly open. Oliver stood up, pulling me with him as Professor McGonagall entered the room.

I swallowed heavily as her sharp grey gaze flicked between Oliver and myself. Behind her pointed glasses I saw her shrewd eyes soften slightly as they noted our clasped hands.

"Professor, you can't punish Isobel," Oliver beseeched. "You just can't. It wasn't her fault."

"Enough, Mr Wood," McGonagall interrupted. "I have no intention of punishing Miss Reed. Though I do not approve the use of magic against another there is no doubt in my mind that Miss Reed's actions prevented an even greater disaster today." Though there was no smile on her face I knew this was as much of a complement as I would ever be awarded from the stern Professor. "And so I shall be awarding Gryffindor thirty house points for her quick thinking and bravery."

Oliver flicked a wide, overjoyed smile on me.

"But let us hope we don't have a repeat performance," Professor McGonagall finished. I took it as the warning she meant it to be, nodding slightly in return.

As she turned to leave her sharp gaze flicked once more to our entwined fingers. I could have imagined it but I'm sure I saw a small smile grace her lips.

Oliver turned fully to me now, his hands snaking around my slim waist as he pulled me into a hug. Automatically my arms wrapped around his neck as I returned the gesture. It seemed natural, comfortable even, to be in his embrace.

"Told you," his breathed gently in my ear.

"Thank-you," I murmured in reply.

There was more behind those two words than I'm sure he realised. I had so many things to be grateful to him for. First and foremost for supporting me, for comforting me when I needed it, but right now the emphasis behind those words was mostly for believing in me when not even I believed in myself.

As I stood there in the warmth and comfort of his embrace I wondered if perhaps, just marginally, the cracks sealed themselves up a little.


	8. Chapter 8 Poor Workmanship

Chapter 8 – Poor Workmanship Crumbles Eventually

_What do I do to ignore them behind me?_

_Do I follow my instincts blindly?_

_Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams_

_And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?_

_Coz I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin_

_I make the right moves but I'm lost within_

_I put on my daily façade but then_

_I just end up getting hurt again_

- Linkin Park

By the following day the entire school had heard the story of the disastrous fifth year Defence Against the Dark Arts class. And as I'd predicted not everyone's reactions had been positive. Everywhere I went I seemed to be drowning in a sea of suspicion.

But I could hardly blame them. By now the tale had been told so many different times and in so many different ways that it only vaguely reflected the truth.

People were wary of me because really they didn't know what to believe.

Thankfully, no one was hostile or rude. Instead they treated me like a pariah, an outsider, to be revered and respected but never to get to close to.

As I walked down the corridors they seemed to give me a slightly wider berth than they otherwise would have, whilst casting distrustful glances in my direction.

Oddly enough this didn't bother me. In fact, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. The people who mattered to me most, namely Oliver, the twins and the girls in my dorm, were enormously supportive and understanding. To feel their encouragement behind me lifted my wasted heart higher than I could remember it being in recent weeks. I was almost euphoric that I had such remarkable and loyal friends.

It was almost enough to make me forget the nightmare my experiences of Hogwarts had been up until this point. Almost.

------------------------------------

I poked my fork sharply at the piece of chicken on my plate, skewering it easily as the twins lowered themselves on to the hard wooden bench either side of me.

"Congratulations, Reedy," the first freckly face spoke with a wicked grin.

"You've finally wiped that smug smile from Professor Git's face," the other one continued from where the first left off.

I turned to where they were pointing along the teacher's table. Sure enough Professor Lockhart sat there, face downcast in to his meal. His robes, a dark green, were far from their usual vibrant selves and his normally bright blue eyes held a tired edge to them. For the first time since he'd been at Hogwarts he remained silent during the meal. Compared to normal he looked positively desolate.

I couldn't help the small smile of satisfaction that crept upon my lips.

From across the table Hermione scowled. Since the incident yesterday she'd barely spoken two words to me. Being Lockhart's most devoted fan though, this was hardly surprising. She'd probably already sent him several 'Get Well' cards.

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Fred said. "After everything he's pulled you've got to admit that he had it coming."

With an air of disgust Hermione turned away from us. Sniffing slightly and turning her nose up in the air she said, "I'll admit the Siren had to be stopped. But you didn't have to knock him out," she added disapprovingly, turning her narrowed eyes back on me.

"Sure she did," Oliver interceded. "Wish I could have been there. It would have been _so_ satisfying."

I smiled gratefully at him as the twins thumped me appreciatively on the back. Hermione just rolled her eyes and turned away again, muttering something about 'barbarians'.

The meal continued loudly and uneventfully. Eventually the crowd began to disperse as the students sleepily made their way back to their dorms.

Beside me George slumped in his seat before letting out a large belch that seemed to visibly vibrate through the air.

"Merlin, I'm stuffed," he said, patting his now engorged stomach.

His twin leaned across in front of me to poke a finger into the swollen flesh.

"I think there's something growing in there," he surmised with a grin before leaning back again.

"Alright," Angelina said, ignoring the twins' idiosyncrasies and rising from her seat. "I've got a mountain of homework waiting for me back in the common room. Is anyone else coming?"

Quickly the other rose to join her.

"Coming, Isobel?" Angelina asked, noticing I'd remained in my seat.

"No, I'm going to head to the library first. There's something I want to look up for our Transfiguration homework."

Beside her Alicia rolled her eyes. "Why?" she questioned with a small amount of sarcasm. "You already know _everything."_

I smiled at her. "I wish," I murmured, rising from the hard wooden bench.

Before long I found myself in the long corridor linking the grand staircase and the library on the second floor.

Fortunately being this late at night meant the castle hallways were virtually empty, leaving me free from the suspicion that seemed to dog my footsteps and I let my thoughts wander as I strolled aimlessly.

When I finally arrived at my destination I was met by a slightly disgruntled Madam Pince. She'd immediately assaulted me as soon as I set foot within the library, keen to rush me out the door so she could close up for the evening. Before I even had time to blink she reappeared, thrusting the book I was after under my nose and unceremoniously ejecting me from the room.

Smirking slightly I open the book and begun perusing it's pages as I made my way back down the corridor to the grand staircase.

I saw the distinct red blaze a split second before it hit my defenceless form. The spell slammed into my body from the open door of the Charms classroom beside me, sending me careening heavily into the stone wall opposite. My skull struck it painfully first with a loud 'crack' and I slumped on the ground. The force of the impact left me stunned as bright white stars danced before my eyes. Around me the world spun nauseatingly as a pair of heavy boots step out from the darkened doorway.

My heart instantaneously jumped to my throat as that distinct bark of a laugh echoed around the walls. Casually _he _strolled forward to leer over my fallen form.

Terrified, I struggled to get to my feet around my daze as he drew closer. But before I could make myself rise one of his rough hands closed around my throat and he hauled me to my feet. I choked, seeing more stars as his unforgiving grip cut off my windpipe.

Automatically my hands flew to the one enclosed around my neck and I tried to pry his fingers away as he thrust my back forcefully against the stone wall. My fingernails scraped against his rough skin but it was futile, there was no trouncing that iron grasp.

His free hand grabbed my wrists before he pinned them high above my head. I could feel his dark, expectant eyes on me as the constriction around my throat increased.

Panic was now in full flight. My heart pounded heavily in my chest, trying to break free from its bony cage, as I continued vainly to draw breath. But it was impossible. His power over me was absolute.

Gradually unconsciousness began to creep upon me as the effects of oxygen deprivation began to claim me. My hearing was the first to yield. It faded until I could discern nothing but a dull ringing in my ears.

Following suit my vision began to tunnel. The circular blackness crept upon me, seeming to intensify my terror as my body folded to his will. Before long all I could see was a small circle of light, a tiny pinprick of hope.

With the last remnants of my vision I desperately sought out his gaze, silently begging for mercy. The cold, blackness I was met with froze my heart in its place. _He _would not stop.

Now deaf and blinded I fought frantically to hold on the last strands of consciousness. I knew that as soon as I faded, as soon as my body acquiesced to his will, he would have me. And I was completely petrified by that sentiment.

He'd stood idle for all those weeks, taunting me with animalistic glances in the corridors, and now I was finally within his grasp.

In a last ditch effort I swung out with my leg, striking something hard. With a grunt of pain from my captor the grip around my throat loosened and I was abruptly dropped to the floor. I fell roughly to my hands and knees, tears streaming down my face as my starved lungs expanded excruciatingly beyond their normal capacity.

The grittiness of the stones ground into my hands and close beside me I numbly noted the sounds of pained breathing.

In my desperation I'd hit a sensitive spot, momentarily incapacitating him. My panicked heart swelled at the thought.

Shakily I pushed my aching body from the ground, staggering slightly as I fumbled my way blindly down the corridor.

As the life-giving breath finally reached the ends of my body my sight began to return and I stood up fully before stumbling rapidly away from my captor.


	9. Chapter 9 Drowning

Chapter 9 – Drowning

No one seems to hear your hidden cries

You're left to face yourself alone

But where will you go?

With no one left to save you from yourself

You can't escape the truth

- Evanescence

I was surrounded, positively drowning in a sea of pristine white. Everywhere I turned my hollow gaze purity and innocence reflected back at me. It was a constant reminder of what I'd lost, of what he'd stripped from me. And I felt dirty.

My robes pooled around my huddled form, contrasting starkly with the untainted tiles around me. As the moisture seeped through they sank heavily, blending and bleeding into my surroundings. I lifted the hem, watching as it clung almost desperately to the uncontaminated white. But it did not belong there and I tore it away, drawing it like a shield around my numb frame.

It was a wasted effort; the damage was already done.

Water beat heavily down on to my back. I felt the tiny pinpricks strike constantly through me, an unrelenting assault on my beaten body. Slowly moisture trickled its way down my neck and over the distinct, five-fingered bruise on my throat.

He'd marked me once again. And just like the last time I'd been branded both physically and mentally. Only this time the cracks ran deeper.

I shivered slightly as one cold drop trailed its way down my back. Slowly it made its way over my waist before changing direction and trickling down my abdomen to the waistband of my skirt.

I gasped suddenly as the droplet's path unwillingly dredged up the agonizing memories of the first attack.

My body convulsed with wracking sobs against the cold tiles of the wall. Pain ripped through my throat as I gasped for breath again around the agony that poured itself out of my emaciated soul.

The saltiness fell heavily to the floor, mingling with the water that had pooled at my feet, and I watched through a clouded haze of torment as they swept away rapidly before falling down the drain.

And so there, in the isolation of the Gryffindor locker room, surrounding by a sea of pure white, I finally crumbled. My strength fell to the floor along with the last of my resolve, before it was swiftly washed away, circling and falling into unending darkness.

---------------------------------

**(Oliver's POV)**

Whenever I fall at your feet

You let your tears rain down on me

Whenever I touch your slow turning page

The finger of blame has turned upon itself

And I'm more than willing to offer myself

Do you want my presence or need my help?

Who knows where that might lead.

- Crowded House

**Frowning slightly I turned my gaze to the clock above the fireplace for the umpteenth time. It was late. Several hours had passed since we'd parted ways and she still wasn't back. She was only going to the library, for crying out loud. How long could that really take?**

**My long forgotten homework sat before me in a jumbled mess of papers. I bit my lip, wondering what could possibly have detained her.**

"**Oliver!" Alicia's disapproving yelp called to me. **

**She grabbed my hand sharply and moved it from where it hovered over the parchment on the table before us to over the ink well. I snapped my eyes back to her face at the motion, wondering what I'd done wrong. My gaze followed hers downwards to where large accusing black blobs dotted her parchment.**

**I watched guiltily as she hastily wiped away the ink stains my quill had dripped on her page.**

"**Sorry," I murmured, resting the quill down in the black well.**

**I sighed, running my hands in frustration down my face. It was so hard to concentrate on anything else. Curfew had faded by a while ago and I was now very worried. **

**I knew she was strong and that over the last few weeks she'd made a more than admirable effort at appearing whole. But I could see things were not entirely right. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of it in her sapphire eyes, a dullness that couldn't be explained by mere exhaustion. **

**Alicia's gaze softened as she noted my distraction. **

"**She'll be alright. She probably just lost track of time."**

"**Yeah," I murmured in assent. Though I fervently hoped this was the case, some part of me knew it was not.**

**Another half hour crept by before I finally relented. I rose from the couch, hastily throwing my belongings in my bag and thrusting them in the corner of the room.**

"**I'm going to look for her," I declared, my eyes flicking wistfully to the portrait door one last time.**

**Next to me Alicia bowed her head and nodded.**

"**Be careful. You can't afford to be caught," she called softly as I departed the room.**

**My feet halted immediately as soon as I was through the door. The thick blanket of darkness was almost impenetrable. Now that I was finally on my way I was almost afraid of what I might find.**

**Shakily I pulled my wand from my robes. **

"**Lumos,' I muttered to the gloom. A narrow beam of light shot out from the tip of my wand. The darkness was so dense it was almost opaque but the magic stream was just enough to illuminate the stones beneath my feet. **

**I descended the grand staircase rapidly. An unexplainable desperation kept my pace brisk so that by the time I reached the library I was panting heavily. **

**The large wooden doors loomed before me, a simple padlock all that kept the library's depths hidden. I lifted the cold metal restraint in my hand, shaking it roughly as I sought entrance into the room. When it failed to yield I whipped out my wand, thrusting it sharply at the lock as I muttered, "Alohamora!"**

**A golden spark burst from my wand tip, striking the heart of the lock before it faded away, plunging me into darkness once again. The lock was unscathed. Scowling slightly I realised that the room had been sealed by more than just physical restraints. **

**I cast one last aggravated glance back on the protected door before making my way slowly back down the stone corridor. It seemed unlikely that Isobel would still be within the library. Madam Pince was so careful and protective of her precious books that I was certain she would never make the mistake of trapping a student inside. Still I felt almost obligated to check.**

**I had just passed the Charms classroom when the light from my wand illuminated something unexpected. Surprised, I bent down to for a closer inspection. My breath caught as I recognised the discarded object.**

**It was a book, a transfiguration book, to be specific. **

**Its now battered pages were torn and lay open for view where it lay, having been hastily thrown against the stones opposite the classroom. **

**Unbridled panic gripped my heart as I realised the implication of its presence. **

**No . . . .**

**Before I could even register I was sprinting down the corridor's length, heading back to the grand staircase. I ****had ****to find her.**

**----------------------------------------**

**Unfortunately if someone were determined to hide in this castle it would almost be impossible to find them. There were an endless number of nameless nooks and crannies, not to mention a plethora of hidden passages and rooms in which to conceal one's self. **

**I'd already searched for Isobel in every familiar place I could think of. Right now my feet were heavily pounding their way down to Hagrid's hut. This was the last place I could think to check and I desperately hoped I'd find her there. **

**I burst from the doors of the castle and out in to the vapid cold of the December evening. My breath blew visibly ahead of me, hallmarking my presence to the gloomy night. Each frantic footstep I took seemed to strengthen my resolve. I had to find her. I had to. **

**The courtyard flew past me in a blur as I made my way towards the small shack on the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. **

**Abruptly a shadowed object flew sharply before my face and I skidded to a halt. Startled, my eyes followed the path of the owl as it made its way gracefully to the tall towered structure next to the Quidditch Pitch. **

**The Pitch . . . . **

**It was so obvious and I silently chastised myself for not thinking of it earlier as my feet resumed their heavy, anxious beat. **

**I deftly weaved and leapt my way down the coarse path that lead to the pitch. In no time I reached the stark white corridor that opened to the change rooms. My footsteps reverberated heavily as I sprinted to the door on the far side. The light from my wand danced as it bounced in my hand, casting shadows erratically in ahead of my feet. I'd forgotten I was still holding it in my desperation to get here. **

**The wooden barrier at the end of the hall gave way easily to my touch and I paused momentarily in the doorway. Quickly I scanned the darkened room. The benches lay empty, the lockers undisturbed. For all intents and purposes the room seemed abandoned. **

**I was about to turn and leave when a soft trickling sound from the girls' side assaulted my ears. **

**Carefully I made my way around the tiled petition, a little apprehensive of what I might discover. It was in the open shower cubicle on the far side that I found her. **

**She was huddled in the corner, her slight body pressed firmly back against the cold white tiles. Water from the showerhead poured a never-ending stream down her frame but she seemed not to notice. The sodden pile of robes that adorned her shoulders clung desperately to her drenched skin.**

**She was trembling uncontrollably, her pale skin decorated heavily with goose bumps as she stared unseeingly ahead. **

**I gasped, my jaw dropping as I took in the broken form in front of me. This was what I had been afraid of.**

**Without another thought I stepped into the cubicle and encompassed the convulsing girl in the warmth of my arms. Her skin felt cold to my touch, almost lifeless. **

**As I sat beside her icy water trailed its way uncomfortably down the back of my robes and I shivered, before reaching behind me to shut off the stream. **

"**Is," I murmured, rubbing my hand up and down her saturated shoulder.**

**Her body moved limply in my arms with the motion but she didn't respond. Frighteningly she didn't even acknowledge me. She just continued to stare ahead with that empty gaze. That terrified me more than anything else. There was nothing behind her once vibrant eyes. They were hollow and dull. **

"**Please, Isobel," I begged, my voice cracking desperately. "Love, its time to get up."**

**She frowned slightly at my words before turning her barren gaze on me. **

'**Why?' her bewildered stare seemed to ask.**

**I sighed inwardly, my heart unclenching as she finally started to wake. **

**Carefully I lifted her slight frame in my arms and carried her out of the cold shower. I lowered myself on the nearest bench, settling her frozen body on my lap. **


End file.
